Written text:
Paris in the sun.
Paris in the sun [is] magical, and it sparkles in all of the ways I could have hoped. The language seems romantic and kind. The people are in love. They actually wear berets, and their lips and cheeks flush in the same shade of rose. Paris in the sun makes the crepes sweeter and the coffee stronger. In the sun, it’s pink, green, silver, and blue melted together into some sort of sweet and delicate array of frosted pastries and wistful dreams.
Paris in the rain.
Paris in the rain is cruel and unforgiving. The language becomes resentful and arrogant in all of the ways that they speak without words. It incubates loneliness and misfortune. The sky and all things below become gray. They wear black; they roll eyes. The rain reacts with you skin, gleaming in a way that makes it clear you don’t belong.
Above all, Paris is a reminder of the light and dark which coexist (in more subtle ways) around us every day. Paris is a dream and a nightmare. It’s a silent film with subtitles in French – worth the watch despite the confusion in grasping the point of it all.
